Chirpings and whirrings. The barometer fell a bit and now it is rising again.

Primo Maggio, the first of May, brings a lone firefly twinkling on the dark terraces. It has been so warm that plants that usually flower a fortnight apart have been blooming all at the same time. The Orioles arrived late April – first a single call way to the east, another call again from the east a few days later. May Day dawned soft as summer and I went down to walk under the umbrella pines and admire the poplars which had just burst into full leaf. An Oriole came and sang a brief song, answered by a companion in the far west woods.

The current activity in the house is sanding wood, and this would be an apt description of today’s standing practice. Each segment of the spine seems to need smoothing down. At the moment it is not possible to make an overall change physically, to sit down and gather to the centre. Each part of the back has to be addressed, bit by bit.

And today is Primo Giugno, the first of June, how fast a month has passed. Zhanzhuang continues to be central in the day, even if only for 40 minutes. I am finding a different approach these days. A greater scope, necessarily, for if I focus specifically on hip or spine, for example, it weighs too heavily on misalignments. I need to work more wholesomely, to rely more on an energetic refusion. To come forwards into the belly, to rely more on dantian and allow the vertebrae to simply breathe. Form practice then can enliven the spine along its length, continuously challenging it in new directions. I think I understand better how the technique requires a light suppleness, not heavy control.

June is the firefly gathering season, although this year their presence began to intensify in May. The Redstarts were found nesting in the west wall of the house where there is a gap in the stones under the eaves. They have been toing and froing for eleven days, both male and female in constant attendance. By now the eggs must have hatched, for insects are being brought to the nest every few minutes. The two behave so differently in how they approach the nest. She arrives silent and swift directly at the entrance, tosses one glance over her left shoulder, and immediately disappears inside. He approaches cautiously, but his caution is announced to all and sundry by repeated cries, first on the telephone wire two metres from the nest, then at the entrance to the nest, where he hops about, into the gap and out again, with sudden turns and agitated flickerings of his red tail feathers, as if he is playing Grandmother’s Footsteps, aiming to take by surprise whoever may be tailing him to the nest.

CXW warm-up exercises, no.3 :

His cryptic names for exercises 1 and 2 are ‘move neck’ and ‘move hips’.

Exercise 3, ‘move toes’. This one clearly shows that movement of an extremity is sourced from centre. Standing on one leg, the other leg is rotated in its joints, hip and knee and ankle. Dantian’s gatheredness moves outwards along the leg, the subtle complexity of sacroiliac flexibility directing a continuous spiralling, first in an outward circling, then an inward twining. This third exercise in the warm-up series is the same as the penultimate exercise in his chansijin series (Chansigong), only here the toes touch the ground (hence ‘move toes’), repeatedly drawing circles, whereas in the chansijin exercise, the moving leg spirals in the air.

Sunday early June, rain at last. As it began to pelt down, I found a minuscule chick in the black bamboos, about to hop out into the rain. I tried to see its tail, wondering if it was a Redstart. A pair of Blackcaps swooped nearby in alarm, weaving through the bamboos, and I withdrew. So it is a Blackcap chick; the parents are now hunting under cover of the grove and coming to feed it on the ground. A half hour before the storm broke, I saw that the Redstart pair were in a panic, their chicks must have fledged : their maiden flight from the nest high up in the west wall of our house, over the taiji stomping ground and now somewhere in the black bamboos. The pair have been in attendance from dawn to dusk for ? weeks, first taking turns sitting on the eggs, the female sometimes inside for 20 minutes at a time as he fretted on the wire two meters from the house, or right at the entrance to the nest, often looking in and hopping out, as if he was urging her to give him his turn; then once the eggs were hatched, both of them flying in a nonstop supply of insects – clamped firmly in their beaks were green crickets, orangy butterflies, yellowy wings of unrecognizable creatures. One would arrive at the nest, allowing the other to fly fast away.

Now in the silent heat of August, the Redstart calls intermittently from the surrounding oakwoods. At day’s end, as night gathers, it is the last bird singing.

XinJia. I now understand the first movement of the form and relish nudging fullness into the arms as they rise and sink. Actually they do not rise, nor do they sink. They billow out from centre. The arms and legs are tubes carrying the flow; the windings in them throttle the energy so that the pressure is constant behind each leading outwards, each withdrawal inwards, and here again, there is no out nor in, only a ceaseless weaving, the knitting together seaming to the unwinding of the jin. I feel my body entire this summer, dantian not a distinct part of me conducting movement of limbs, nor a controlling centre whose command the rest of my body follows. A kind of suspension in thick fluid, a kind of abstract and inevitable throbbing of life whose laws I as a person observe and respect – this is how the body feels. There is directedness, focus towards an unfolding, a precise enactment of an intense silent drama. No words form in the mind as the action unrolls. There is no thought, only awareness, observing this body as it gives way to the laws of change. Having a form to practise day after day grants me an experimental laboratory, where the tools are laid out in the same arrangement, yet what passes through the tubes, what burns in the flame, the purified residue, is of indefinable compounds marrying and dividing and becoming other, unknowable yet of the very substance which I need to live.

The waning moon is rising later each evening, making us guess how far northward it will travel along the rim of our hills. Last night its glow announced the exact scoop in the contour where it would soon be appearing. As I waited to see the first shining sliver rise on the horizon, there was a sudden piercing light to the right of the lunarmosity – single-pointed, it slipped out from the black line of hills and lifted swiftly into the night. Jupiter. A moment later an edge of pearly brightness broached the sky – the reluctant moon, reclining, drawn out of the earth by Jupiter’s meteoric ascent.

Next we are going to consider sections of XinJia in order to examine each as a discrete set of twinings. By this, I mean to separate out skeins of movements in an attempt to pinpoint specific moments in time when a particular spontaneous interior motion sparks a chain of coilings, which, gathering intensity, burn along routes laid by training in chansijin technique. All that happens throughout the body is centrally calibrated by the dantian unit which has as its locus the area around the lower spinal column and its pelvic attachments. At a certain junction the wave of twinings, often multi-directional, coalesces, cresting as it were, and pours outwards in a fajin : the momentum built up along the chain of coilings surges outwards in an expression of power. If here we pause the flow, we can discern the completion of a particular set of chansi.

The form is initiated by a primary undulation at the core of the body which becomes visible as a raising and lowering of the arms. The movements that follow, up to the stamping of the foot, develop consecutively from that original impulse. This first section is a series of windings complete in itself; it is one sentence with a beginning, a middle, and a ‘full stop’ ending. This full stop (‘period’, ‘punto’) is charged, holding within itself the material for the coming section : from the separation of the hands that follows hot on the heels of the stamp to the closure at Six Sealing Four Closing is a particular manifestation of the material contained in all that is held in balance at the moment of stamping the foot. Consider the two final stances of Pound Mortar and Six Sealing Four Closing. How does XinJia link them? Here we have a trove of chansi intricacies to explore.

The complex twisting throughout the body at the final position of liu feng si bi holds many threads of twinings together which will lead the body into danbian, Single Whip. These two linked stances – liu feng si bi and danbian – are a major crossroads along the journey of XinJia. Continuing onwards with the form, we will see that the directions taken from Single Whip are varied and fascinating; we can examine them in turn. One way enters yun shou, Cloud Hands. Another time it begins similarly but reveals itself to be the launching pad for Wild Horse Parts its Mane. Or the crisscrossing steps of Cloud Hands themselves are the windup for Squatting Single Whip/Dragon On the Ground. This is just a light sketch to give a sense of the tack we are going to take through XinJia; let’s now look at the material more closely.

**

jingang dao dui, 10 numbers :

We’ll use CXW’s numbering system to isolate each segment of a section, this first example taking jingang dao dui, the sequence of moves that launch the Chentaiji player into the form, its 10 numbers marking out ten phases in the development of this section’s chansi.

No.1 starts from the already prepared position with the feet separated at shoulder width. To be prepared means to have the upper body balanced over the lower body, the chest and back unified, the left and the right sides in equilibrium, extremities flowing towards centre (dantian) : “mind balanced, weight balanced, qi balanced” : mind is spirit, weight is body, qi is energy : all three in equilibrium.

Equilibrium is to be subtly rocked by an interior shift that will set off coilings throughout the body. An energetic stirring within the balance. A central calm oversees this play of creative disturbance, containing and harmonizing all parts in constant motion. What happens interiorly to get the ball rolling? Remember the completion of zhanzhuang. When the energy of hands and dantian are joined in the soft and flowing body, movement principle may be activated internally, invisible until it surfaces in the spinning hands : ‘hands turn dantian’, which is in fact ‘dantian turns hands’ – centre turns hands, turns feet, turns whole body. The same impulse that initiates this turning that wraps up a session of standing practice leads into jingang dao dui. At the end of zhanzhuang, the initiation of turning is facilitated by the shifting of weight; here at the start of the form, the weight stays equally divided between the two legs as an impulse, hidden deep within the torso, nudges the whole body into motion, and becomes visible in the rising arms. The weight stays equally divided between the two legs … without double weighting. This term, double weighting, is popularly understood to mean what the words seem to mean : the distribution of weight equally between the two sides. In fact, the meaning is to do with being incapacitated, stuck, a fixated body. Not balanced in all directions, the body-ball cannot roll. Both legs may bear the weight evenly without danger of ‘double weighting’ when the posture is compact, the body ever sensitive and pliable, the legs ever buoyant.

So, here we are, feet parallel, placed at shoulder width distance. The arms are down by the sides. The five counts which precede this position with the parted feet have already altered the stance of the player. This is how the alteration happens : the player first stands with the feet together, arms by the sides; the person is in ‘normal’ mode, chest rather full or rather collapsed, energy high in the body, mind somewhat scattered. Prior to all numbers, count zero, is to still the mind, calm down. On count 1 where qi sinks to dantian, the body draws together, chest emptying, lower body filling; awareness percolates the body and it visibly gains in substance as it lowers slightly, the bending of the knees only helping the body draw together more compactly. On count 2, left heel raises, again the compactness of the stance increases. Count 3, the left foot separates from the right and places itself at shoulder width distance to the side, a relaxed ankle ensuring the toes and front part of the foot land softly, the heel easing into the ground. The weight remains in the right leg. On count 4, left leg takes its share of the body’s weight, and the player settles into the taiji stance, as delineated above. Then the final arrival into readiness on count 5 – the mind-soaked body : intent will be borne of the unification.

Count 1 of Pound Mortar begins invisibly, silent like sunrise. The initial spark that ignites a continuous coiling throughout the body may be too elusive to describe. I cannot say dantian does this or that. Centrally pliable, lying in quiescense within the lower back, a slipperiness of sacroiliac joins, mobility of pelvic bones, unceasing feed from vibrant legs, a relaxed attention all-embracing – independently yet together every part every factor conspires … there is a giving way, a release into a channel, with flows and counter flows, here eddying, there carried buoyantly, to eddy yet again …..

It can easily be described as what I do not do. No heaving about of the dantian, no elaborate undulations of the spine. The ‘chest-waist change place’, as CXW describes the ripple through the torso, is not overt, it does not call for attention. The movement is not large, neither is it small. There are no “Chen” wriggles, no blandishments. No assertions from the belly-chest complex, niente bruto.

With correct training over time, the practiser acquires an overall vibrancy, and a store of energy accumulates deep within the torso. Contained in the pelvic girdle, one knows its presence as a quiet effervescence in the belly. Framed by stillness, intent lights a connection to the base of the lumbar spine, the fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae. It is important to understand that movement begins in the back of the body, not the front. There is a rounding, a light folding. A release. Via the back, dantian’s effervescence rises through the arms, symmetrically. The sensation is already familiar from time spent in zhanzhuang, when gathered energy slowly fills out the arms; and it is familiar from the time at the end of standing practice when one first starts moving, guided from centre. Yet it is also different in the form. Completing a session of standing, one sets in motion ‘movement principle’ in the barest most essential expression of this principle. Here at the start of XinJia, one likewise sets in motion 'movement principle' in its most essential expression but in a way which must be able retain its purity throughout the many vissisitudes of a long exploration in the complex art of chansi.

The point at which the arms’ rise turns to sink is an early indication of the delicacy of twining. Here is a good place to mention the importance of learning from a teacher who can show you what you should do even though you cannot yet do it. Until 1995, in nineteen years of studying taiji, nobody had shown me how to transition from raising the arms to lowering them. All that I had seen was the arms being raised, then being slightly drawn inwards, then lowered. It looked like a three-step process: raise, retract, sink. The middle step looked like a curious reconsideration in the elbows, a clumsy elaboration in an otherwise elegant beginning of TaijiQuan. But when I saw Chen XiaoWang for the first time performing the opening moves of LaoJia, I saw no middle step, nothing angled nor obvious, only a continuous unfolding, utterly simple. Nothing superfluous to the whole-body motion. The arms were the body. But what on earth was it that I was seeing? What was the body doing, that affected the arms in the way I was seeing them, really for the first time?

XinJia opens, the arms rise and sink in a single motion, completing one circuit which begins and ends in dantian. It is initiated when dantian’s store of qi sparks the lowest lumbar vertebrae; barely perceptibly the body sinks, and energetically; qi is flushed upwards along the spine, spreading and amplifying the upper back and shoulders, raising the arms from beneath till they are about horizontal. The arms' attaining this height, in the correct way, is a prerequisite to the arrival of qi in the hands and to the finger tips—bearing in mind that for the adept, any height can be correct, if the necessary action occurs internally. The sensation is of an upward flow meeting a boundary, from which it rebounds, to flow back, returning to dantian.

Stuck to ideas of micro/macro orbits, we try to enact the ideas, heavying our bodies with theory. Qi rising up the back, must it then sink down the front? Lying on our backs or sitting/standing still, we can perform exercises dictated by rules. If such rules can be followed in many styles of TaijiQuan, I have found it to be impossible in Chentaiji. One single factor makes it so – the subtle action Chen XiaoWang calls “chest-waist change place”, the undulation at the core of the body. It is no simple undulation. The XinJia moves call for it at varying angles, the axis anywhere from vertical to horizontal. Nor do chest and waist “change place” proportionately, there is seldom symmetry. Once the body is trained by the fundamental exercises, it is freed from the rules that have trained it. The place of form practice in the curriculum is to exercise daily this freedom, discover spontaneity, and come to understand further dimensions of Chen XiaoWang’s “natural – first principle!”.

**

Here’s how the opening of XinJia feels to me – there is the sensation of soaring, intensified by a downward spreading within the chest, air pushing from beneath carrying the arms upwards until they are horizontal, when qi arrives in the hands. Once the ascending fullness is attained, a minute rocking at L4-L5 alters the angle of the arms, flushing qi to the fingertips. From this point the flow turns back along the sinking arms, down the sides of the torso, wending its way around the waist, returning home to dantian. Remember, skill lies in maintaining ample fortitude, wherein the lightest slightest alteration effects change and finetunes the direction of qi flow. Ideas of so-called full rotations prove to be cumbersome. What happens is much more subtle and fine; “change very delicate”, as Chen XiaoWang once said, when we were being guided through this very section, jingang dao dui. The idea of rotating dantian has led many people astray, prompting caricatures of Chentaiji.

Change, once it is effected, carries through simply : once the tide turns back from the fingertips, the flow back along the arms draws them down easily, provided there are no obstacles in the way, such as tight shoulders, reluctant elbows, forceful forearms. But the hands do need to arrive at a precise place by the hips. How is this place to be recognized? An Icelandic student once asked Master Chen a question of this kind; she asked how can one know when the correct position has been found. By taste, he said. “Like apple you eat, you know when still green, when ripe.” How did he know that in Iceland, receiving a fresh and rare apple, alongside an orange, was a treasured holiday tradition for children. The place of arrival by the hips is like this, there is a sense of the right degree of maturity, a readiness, which has all the world to do with ease in the chest and arms, a quiet vibrancy in dantian; it has to do with the entire body’s poised complexity being able to transmute into a fine point of balance.

**

It is raining a little and there is hope of more.

The sky lets go of the drops one by one, as though it has forgotten how to rain. But slowly it gives vent, and like someone who has not cried for years, what is stored pours forth. The arid tension of summer changes pitch, shrillness subsiding as qi once again enlivens the valley. Cloud and mists are becoming to her.

Thankfully the valley gives way to the winds. Tira vento, wind pulling. Birds are quiet now at summer’s end, but the trees sigh in relief, boughing into the currents shivering through the hills. Shivers are necessary stimuli. They provoke upheaval, tugging at status quo, confusing left and right, mixing front and back, throwing up conflict between lower and upper. I bow to the sudden chaos, and find myself midstream again, not knowing where I will land.

At a certain time of night in this fifth season, the heavens give vista to the real journeying where there will be no landfall. Perseus has risen from the northeast, brandishing quadri-spokes; the Pleiades, ever discreet, luster their ever ungraspable treasure. Sagittarius has carried away Scorpio beyond the west woods, leaving the Summer Triangle to point the way, now high in the sky but poised in the direction we will all eventually go.